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Improbable Adventure
Chapter One A blast of brilliant purple lit the skies. From it, a battle scarred Kabal of Shadows Dark Eldar stepped, and surveyed his surroundings. He was standing in heavy smoke on a grassy knoll. He took a small piece of experimental tech out of what passed for a pocket, catting his hands several times on all the spikes around it. He spoke; "" He swore with the word which he believed to be the most offensive in his vocabulary. A small speaker spoke. "" It spoke in a metallic voice. "" exclamed the Dark Eldar, "bway! You know, the place where COMMORRAGH is located? Why do... why are you... why do you keep trying to kill me?>" "" replied Boris, "" "" "" A dark, humanlike shape (wearing a peaked cap) approached. The Dark Eldar readied his Splinter Rifle, ready for whatever approached. Suddenly, the figure bellowed in a voice like the clap of thunder; "WHO IS IT WHO TREADS UPON THE WORLDS OF THE HOLY EMPRAH?" The Dark Eldar winced, but replied, switching to Low Gothic; "It is I, Kabalite Sybarite John, and my teleporter who refuses to work properly, Boris. Who are you?" "I AM COMMISSAR GEORGE! I SLAUGHTER ALL XENOS, HERETICS AND MUTANTS IN THE NAME OF THE EMPEROR'S MERCY! I STABS THE THINGS THAT GOES BUMP IN THE NIGHT!" "Do you have to say every word at the top of your lungs?" "Not necessarily, IT'S JUST FUN!" "Alright," the Dark Eldar sighed, "I don't even know what this planet's name is-" "Correct," replied the Commissar, "we are on the third planet in this system. What's the name of the first planet." "The first planet's name is what?" "Exactly. What." "That's what I'm asking you." "And I'm telling you, the first planet's name is What." The Dark Eldar grimaced for a second behind his helmet before replying "Alright, so I'm somewhere-" "Oh, no. Somewhere is the name of the second planet." "Well, can you find it for me?" "What?" "The name of the second planet." "Somewhere." "Yes, but can you... nevermind. I'm stuck with an imbecile in the middle of nowhere-" "Oh, no. Nowhere is the third planet." "Okay, I've heard of skits like this. So if I'm right, the first planet is named What, the second planet is named Somewhere, and the third planet is named Nowhere, right?" "Exactly." "So could you please tell me the name of this planet?" "Well, this planet originally had a different name, but an Inquisitor renamed it. He got fed up with similar responses, and christened it 'Who The Fuck Names These Emperor-Damned Pathetic Balls of Rock?'" "I thoroughly agree with the sentiment. Mind telling me why we're talking to each other in a large amount of smoke?" "Well, twenty days ago, we were overrun by Plague Zombies. I rounded up the three other survivors and we've gone to ground in the remnants of one of this PDF's military base." "I can help you with that problem. For now, I'm stuck, and I'm not that bad in a fight. So take me back to your base and show me these soldiers tough enough to survive a horde of Plague Zombies. Oh, and I'm now nicknameing you 'Mr. Exposition'." Chapter Two "As you can see," the Commissar began, striding with the Dark Eldar down a narrow, filthy and rather damaged corridor of his base, "we've had a lot of patching up to do." John looked around, and realised they probably had to do more repairs after most of it had been "fixed". The repairs looked like they had been made by someone who was blind, drunk, and didn't know what any part of the base actually did. Seconds later, and a few feet in front of him, a door spontaneously combusted. "Ah," George commented, "'Ead Thumpa's having a bit of fun." The smoke cleared, and George introduced him to "Ead Thumpa", who was the engineer, technician and heavy weapons expert. He was also eight feet tall, had hunched shoulders, pointy fangs, a phonetic accent and green skin. John thought he had to get some clarification done. "So," he began, "About 'Ead Thumpa..." "What about him?" George replied "He's one of our best humans on the base. Seven hundred and sixty-three kills by him alone. He's so good, nearly a quarter of them were actually the enemy!" "Yeah, about that... You've known him for how many years?" "Twelve. Rescued him from a Ork camp myself. Poor blighter actually was brainwashed by them - can you believe that? He thought he was an Ork, but our psychologists put paid to those delusions!" "And in all that time... You never noticed anything unusual about him? No abnormalities?" "Well, I have noticed that his teeth are unusually yellow, but that's just becuase he never thought a toothbrush was any use. What are you trying to get across?" "... Nothing." "Good, because tomorrow you'll be going on a dangerous mission to retrieve a high-profile target captured by a squad of Death Guard during the invasion tomorrow. With him, me and the medic. I can only hope that we won't be too late. We have no knowing what foul tortures they are visiting upon him." Chapter Three "No!" exclaimed the Imperial Govenor. The Death Guard Champion leaned closer until their eyes were level and smilied, the part of his corpulent, diseased face poking through the corruped and broken mask adding only the the horror of the situation. "But yes." The smell of the traitor's breath was making the Govenor feel ill. "You can't do this!" "I can. En passant, I believe it is called. The pawn moves diagonally and captures a piece to the left or right, corresponding to the diagonal movement. A perfectly valid move. Check." The Govenor looked down at the rotting board in front of him as the Death Guard drew back. "I give in. I see no way to win given the current state of play." The Govenor gave in graciously. It wasn't as though he wasn't expecting it. "You defeated yourself. You ruthlessly let your pawns be taken to advance your schemes, but when your plans failed, you couldn't regain control of the initiative. Much as you acted during our landing." Silence reigned like a sadistic tyrant, until the Govenor asked the question that was puzzling him. "Not to seem ungrateful, but shouldn't you all be torturing me? Although, I guess playing chess against someone who has had over nine thousand years of practice is its own torture. That, and the food." "Torture? Us? I think not! We're villains, not monsters!" "Oh havetoescape. Okay... Better than I thought." As if sent by the Chaos Gods of anti-awkward-silences, the door burst open and six other Death Guard Marines burst in. They all looked downcast, or as downcast as they could look. "Favored one..." One began, "We... didn't find out where the... loyalist Guard is located... but... Vilbert... he... fell." The Chaos Champion bowed his head in sorrowful silence. "How?" He hissed through clenched teeth. "We.. We were setting up an ambush for that Commissar murderer running around here. You know how Vilbert was the most hotheaded member? He couldn't wait for the ambush. He... He ran out of his position. Next thing we know, there's this massive explosion, and when the smoke clears we see the jackass Commissar talking to some Dark Eldar. We left after that. We had no idea who else the Commissar had affiliated with." "There's no point us all standing around feeling miserable. Group hug! Govenor, are you joining in, too?" The Govenor looked around at the diseased, rotting marines, each of them posessing enough strength to crush him into a jellied paste. Jellied, diseased paste. "I think not." Chapter Four Required Recap due to Time Skip of Several Days Because Nobody Remembered Who was In Charge of the Map Highlighted by an Unutterably Unnecessary Recap: John had been hastily introduced to the medic, a certain Steve. Afterwards, they'd packed what little gear they had, and set off. As the four heroes... Well, the four moderately heroic... Alright, the point is that heroic actions were done and they were in the same system by random chance, were trudging across a barren wasteland, where they were set upon by a swarm of Plaguebearers. "Hmph," George said, swinging around his Power Sword, "Daemons." "Good work," the Dark Eldar retorted, "A sharp inquisitive mind like yours deserves a medal." "You think so? That's the nicest thing you've said!" John dropped his weapons and stared at his feet for several seconds. Beneath his helmet, his right eye twitched, and he occasionally made noises like he was trying to swallow one of his daggers. Around him, the fighting raged. When the final Plaguebearer was taken care of, Steve noticed John. "Are you alright?" he asked, wondering if the fight had caused him to catch some Nurglitch disease. "I'm..." John replied, "Fine... just... mentally... adjusting... my... kill... ''list...''" "Doesn't that have 'everyone else' written on it?" This snapped him out of it. "I'll have you know," he sniffed, immediately regretting it, "That's my torture list. My kill list has 'every non-Dark Eldar on it." There was a small awkward silence as everyone else checked their race. John picked up his daggers, speaking as he did. "I guessed we would be facing Daemons today. On the first day of our travels, we fought Plague Zombies, then on the second, Traitor Guardsmen, third, Nurglitch Traitors, so Daemons was the logical ending. It's like we're obeying a linear system that slowly increases our power as we each fight opponents of increasing difficulty so at the end we fight a boss battle and have experienced enough to be able to defeat them." "Don't be ridiculous," Steve rebutted, "A system like that would be hated by all who try to use it. This is reality, man. Not some kind of game."